Mafia Boy
by Misila
Summary: "Being fuck-buddies is common for members of organisations at war, too?" "As long as it doesn't interfere with our jobs, it'll be fine."


_**Mafia Boy**_

.

The morning after is definitely the worst part about drinking.

The mariachi band echoing within his skull is no stranger for Chuuya. Neither is the bitter aftertaste in his mouth or the burning feeling in his stomach; they greet him like old friends and _damn_ if he doesn't wish they left him alone at least until he gets used to the light piercing through his eyelids like a thousand needles.

Chuuya knows a good solution, at least for a few hours, is drinking some more and postponing his hangover by punishing his poor liver. But somewhere in the back of his mind his responsible side reminds him about the meeting with Kouyou today; she will most likely not be happy if Chuuya shows up drunk.

So he has to put up with it. The resigned sigh makes his head throb.

After taking deep breaths so to be sure he won't throw up as soon as he moves, Chuuya opens his eyes to a foreign ceiling.

He frowns at the damp stains darkening the white paint, scrunches up his nose at the smell of moisture and cigarettes. Thinks _this is not my room_ without worsening his headache and feels a bit proud of keeping whatever he had last night in his stomach.

Then comes _this bed is uncomfortable_. And a probably more primal disgust related to how sickeningly sticky he feels due to the sweat dried up all over his skin.

And afterwards a _Chuuya, how many brain cells do you have left now?_ that sounds suspiciously like Dazai's voice. Chuuya grunts.

It takes considerable effort for him to sit up, even though his ability certainly helps when he remembers how to use it properly to not make things even worse. Running a hand through his hair, he looks to his side upon hearing a second breathing in the room.

Indeed there is a woman sleeping next to him. Contrary to what he is sick of seeing in movies, she is curled up on her side in a not really attractive posture, covered to the chin by a blanket. As Chuuya notices he got just a thin sheet to wrap himself in, he lets his gaze wander down the woman's features; her fair skin contrasts violently with the short, dark hair that covers most of her face.

Still––

Chuuya's mood goes from _contemplative, not entirely miserable hangover_ to something dangerously close to _putting up with Dazai right after using Corruption_ in the blink of an eye.

It's not because there is a –judging by the clothes scattered around the bed– naked woman sleeping soundly next to him (though it could be better if Chuuya could actually remember something more than glimpses of skin and tingling kisses), but because she is _that_ woman.

 _Yukiko? Yuri…? What was her name again?_

Well, her name doesn't matter.

The fact that she belongs to the Armed Detective Agency, on the other hand, does.

Chuuya covers his face with his hands and lets out a long groan, feeling so nauseous he might finally vomit. Out of everyone he has ever slept with, the Agency's doctor is without a doubt the worst of them. Hell, the last time he saw her they were ready to kill each other. And it's not like the Port Mafia is a friendly organisation, but apparently last night Chuuya was too drunk to reason that having sex with someone from the only company they are constantly at war with was a bad idea.

And he can't even remember the fun part.

.

Chuuya twirls his hat between his hands, a frown deeply set between his eyebrows. He doesn't take his eyes off the other hat, the one staring at him from the shop window. Actually, he doesn't even look at the price, even though it's probably high: his salary as a Mafia executive is more than enough to afford practically any craving he might have.

Yet… There is something about this hat that unsettles him, even though he can't tell why. And Chuuya not being able to discern something about a hat is, in the very least, worth noting.

"My, my, if it isn't Mafia Boy!"

Chuuya isn't sure he recognises that voice from the time she intended to chop him off, but he does. His back tenses up and he might grow half a centimetre in the moment it takes for him to tear his gaze off the hat and turn his head to the left.

There she is. With her white blouse and her black skirt, all legs and a smile framed by her short hair and ruined by that stupid butterfly hairpin. At least eight bags hang from each of her arms, hands on her hips; but she doesn't look bothered by the weight.

Chuuya might be able to understand why his drunk self ignored the fact that she ( _Yumeno…? Ya… Yosano! Yosano was her name_ ) is an enemy the other night.

"Well, this is a surprise." A smirk makes its way to his face. "What is the Agency doctor in a place like this?"

"Shopping, as you can see," Yosano snaps, perhaps too quickly, as she steps closer. Chuuya raises an eyebrow. "What kind of education does the Mafia give these days?" She shakes her head. "Leaving a lady alone after spending the night with her isn't very nice, you know?"

Laughter makes its way up Chuuya's throat; it sounds like a bark. " _'Lady'_?" he repeats, because that word might suit Kouyou and perhaps Elise in a few years, but definitely not Yosano. And ifwhat he has heard about her is true, being hurt after a one-night stand doesn't suit her at all.

She lets out a disapproving sigh.

"I mean, our situation is certainly compromising, but I hoped a Mafia executive wouldn't act like a scandalised teenager girl after her first time." Her calm smile grows mocking. "Or was it?"

All trace of sympathy Chuuya might have felt for her gone, he briefly considers embedding her into the pavement. But they are in a crowded shopping street and making a scene would give the Special Ability Department an excuse to stick their noses.

"You wish." He puts his hat on, shoves his hands in his pockets. "As entertaining as talking to you is, I have more important things to do."

"Then I better don't distract you from your Mafia business." Yosano blows a dark lock off her face. "Not to boost your ego, but I had a good time," she admits.

Chuuya shrugs. He would feel flattered, but he has yet to remember what the hell happened exactly. "I'm glad, because it hope it doesn't happen again." He turns around as he says that, starts walking away, not sparing a thought to the hat he had been wanting to buy only minutes ago. It's a good thing that Yosano wasn't overdramatic; that would definitely have gone against everything Chuuya has heard people say about her.

"Same here, Mafia Boy!" Yosano calls after him with a cheerful voice.

It takes a great deal of self-control for Chuuya not to walk back and punch her in the face. _Who's a_ boy _?_

.

It happens again.

This time Chuuya is sober, this time he finds Yosano in a club he usually goes to with Tachihara and Gin. She is with another Agency member whose name Chuuya isn't really interested to know, and judging by the smirk she throws at him, teasing and sharp enough to pierce through the twenty metres of darkness broken by colourful flashes, loud music and people dancing between them and stab right into Chuuya's flesh, she has recognised him too.

He doesn't really know how he gets away from his colleagues, but it may have something to do with the defiance probably written all over his face as Yosano walks close to him and hisses _if you're stalking me I'll chop your limbs off_ in his ear.

Her voice is hot and wet against Chuuya's skin and he hopes she doesn't notice the shiver he can't supress.

"If that were the case, you couldn't stop me even if you tried."

"Is that so?" Yosano steps back, tilts her head to the side, dark eyes narrowed in something akin to amusement. "What would you do, Mafia Boy? Hanging from the ceiling?"

Now _that's_ a taunt Chuuya can't just pass up.

"As if I needed my ability to get rid of you, Doctor."

Yosano's smile grows wider. She is a bit taller than Chuuya and her whole expression screams _danger_ and he is surprisingly pleased about the way it makes his heart race.

"I'd like to see that."

The challenge is too tempting. Chuuya extends his arm towards her, palm upward. "Then dance with me."

Yosano takes his hand, drags him inside the sea of sweaty bodies and deafening noise, where they can _almost_ stop being enemies.

And they dance.

They dance and Chuuya tries to hold Yosano and immobilise her, while she manages to get out of his grasp every time. They dance and Chuuya sees her smile painted in all the colours the light showers them in, and his fingers slide down her waist and remember to curl around her dress always a second too late. They dance and Yosano never goes too far, spinning around and waiting for Chuuya to try to grab her again, fringe sticking to her sweaty forehead as the game goes on and on.

And Chuuya could make it end whenever he wanted, easily, but that would mean attracting people's attention and he has no idea where Tachihara and Gin might have gone; hell, he doesn't even know whether his colleagues or Yosano's friend have seen them.

He doesn't care.

Chuuya might be enjoying the increasingly long time Yosano spends in that parody of a grasp, might be a bit intoxicated with the smell of her hair whenever she shakes her head. Might be vibrating at the same time the floor does with the music, feeling the rhythm deep inside him, getting impatient because Yosano doesn't try too hard to slip away but doesn't stay long enough either and his clothes are becoming too tight around his hot skin.

Gloved hands cradle his face when the song ends, but Chuuya can't register any sound. His own fingers grab, at last, Yosano's waist properly, and he can almost read the words forming on her lips before she kisses him; he sighs relief and haste on her mouth, pushes and makes her step back.

"Got you," he whispers.

Yosano draws back, straightens up. "No, Mafia, Boy. _I_ got _you_."

 _Whatever_ , Chuuya thinks as he pulls at her hand and guides her towards a more private part of the building, thankful the owner already knows him; and he's probably breaking the rules and using his ability to walk faster, but when they find the room Chuuya was looking for and he can finally slide his hands up her thighs, under the dress, he can't find in him the will to care.

The night was bound to end like this anyway.

.

Chuuya rarely gets in trouble.

He does as he's told, tries to protect the men under his command and goes drinking with his colleagues after work. Nobody who knows him would accuse him of treason, or even something other than complete devotion to the Port Mafia.

They would probably think otherwise if they knew he has been meeting up with the Armed Detective Agency's Doctor for weeks now.

Not being an actual traitor is the only thing that stops Chuuya from completely freaking out. He has no idea whether Yosano, with or without the rest of the Agency's knowledge, plans to seduce him to learn about the Mafia; but he never says a word about his job or his colleagues, no matter how deliciously light he feels in the afterglow.

Besides, that idea seems far-fetched. If Yosano is curious about the Mafia all she has to do is asking Dazai; that damn traitor would be more than happy to let the Agency know all the secrets Chuuya won't reveal.

Not that Yosano has ever asked.

Yet.

Chuuya doesn't ask either. As much as he uses Yosano's title to rile her up, he isn't interested in the Agency's doctor, but the woman that threatens to drive him crazy whenever they touch.

His groan passes unnoticed under the water stream falling on him. His thoughts lately seem to revolve around Yosano, about what her presence and her touch and her scent could mean and he's honestly sick of it. Part of him is sure he's overreacting and Yosano is simply as attracted to him as Chuuya is to her; but even in that case having her number written in a piece of paper that weighs too much in his pocket, meeting her at cheap motels on the outskirts of Yokohama, feels _wrong_.

Damn, he knows dozens of people out there that wouldn't mind if he called them to have sex every now and then; but there is something about Yosano and her ridiculous hairpin that makes Chuuya look for _her_ , specifically; because he doesn't crave sex, but sex with her.

"Isn't it… weird?" he asks aloud. It's almost four in the morning and he walks out of the bathroom with one towel around his waist and another one hanging from his shoulders to find Yosano looking through the window. She turns her head around; thankfully the hideous butterfly is nowhere in sight. "I mean," Chuuya gestures around himself, but not at the room, "this."

Yosano walks to the bed. Chuuya can only follow her naked form with his gaze, the droplets falling from her wet hair down her back as she sits down on the mattress and plays with his hat.

"Meeting to have sex? Frowned upon, mostly for women, but actually more common than you'd think." She puts the hat on cautiously. "Does it suit me?"

Chuuya rolls his eyes. "Not much." He has been around Dazai for long enough to know when someone tries to change the topic, though. "Then, being fuck-buddies is common for members of organisations at war, too?"

In the silence that follows Chuuya sits on the bed too, dries his wet hair with the towel absent-mindedly.

"Nobody has to know. And as long as it doesn't interfere with our jobs, it'll be fine."

Chuuya's laughter tastes bitter in his mouth.

"With our very ordinary jobs."

"I'm a doctor," Yosano replies, glaring at Chuuya; for the first time he feels as if she's judging his life. "What are you, Mafia Boy?"

She asks that as if Chuuya would ever feel remotely ashamed of belonging where he does.

And she completely misses the point.

Who does she think she is? The cliché main character that changes her boyfriend for the better? Does she even _believe_ Chuuya needs or wants to? As if he wished to be anywhere other than in the Port Mafia, or had been coerced to join… People who are seen as the good ones are so _arrogant_.

"Let's stick to just sex," Chuuya eventually mumbles.

Talking about important topics is clearly not one of their strengths.

.

Still, they do talk. Not a lot, not about important matters; but they do.

Chuuya sometimes complains about his colleagues, whereas Yosano often has to leave quickly after a call in the middle of the night, sooner than Chuuya would like, because apparently the Agency members are incredibly prone to get hurt in the simplest missions.

Yosano takes a liking to try Chuuya's hats. She insists they all look the same, and after a particularly intense night she starts looking at them closely, with her eyes narrowed, trying to find something different. Out of spite, since that night Chuuya always wears the same hat to their dates, enjoys seeing her deep frown until she gets tired of staring at the accessory and pins Chuuya to the bed with a mischievous, demanding smirk.

After weeks walking past the shop where he first talked to her, Chuuya buys the hat that intrigued him so much and gives it to Yosano. She doesn't seem overly pleased with it; but the sight of Yosano straddling him in the dim room while wearing it _does_ affect Chuuya.

At dawn he apologises for the bruises marring her pale skin, for not noticing he was using his ability until their limbs disentangled and Yosano was finally able to breathe properly.

Yosano, already with her feet on the floor, turns around and raises an eyebrow. She has already put her new hat on and the morning shines on her sleepy smile.

"Are you kidding me? You should have done that sooner."

"Huh?"

She rolls her eyes, lets out an exasperated sigh.

"For a serial murderer, you are way too soft, Mafia Boy."

Chuuya grunts, sneaks his arms around her waist, brings her back to the bed.

"I'm going to make you take that back."

Yosano doesn't resist. She leans her head on Chuuya's shoulder, looks at him with clouded eyes as her fingers thread through his hair. The hat falls and Chuuya smiles at the lack of the stupid hairpin.

"Don't you have work to do? Like, I don't know, drug dealing?"

Chuuya thinks about it for a second. He's sure Mori will survive without him. "Nothing important. You?"

Yosano closes her eyes. Purple and green blotches start flourishing at the base of her pale neck, brushed by her dark hair. She is soft and warm in Chuuya's embrace, still lightly smiling as if recalling a particularly good memory as the first rays of light tickle her skin.

It occurs to Chuuya that he wouldn't mind just looking at her like this, while he holds her in his arms.

"Mm." As Yosano opens her eyes, something painful stabs Chuuya square in the chest.

 _Oh…_

"They'll call me if they really need me."

 _Damn_.

.

The night everything goes to hell, it's all Chuuya's fault.

He doesn't plan to call Yosano today. His mission went unexpectedly well and he finds himself celebrating his success with his colleagues at a club, and excitement runs through his veins when he recognises Yosano walking in. This time she is alone and a practiced gesture is all it takes for them to find each other in the restroom two minutes later.

"So you _are_ stalking me," Yosano snorts, amused, but she can't say much more because Chuuya's lips are on hers, eager and euphoric and she lets out a giggle and a soft taunt when her back is slammed into the wall, not bothered at all.

"Did you have plans?" Chuuya mutters.

"Looks like now I do."

Chuuya kisses her again, raises his hand to get rid of the hairpin. She smiles and leans down for another kiss, but before their lips met the door is thrown open.

Instinctively Chuuya inches closer to Yosano as they turn towards the sound.

Chuuya can make earth swallow him up, quite literally, and he is about to do so when his gaze lands on the newcomers.

"Chuu…ya…?"

"Kunikida! Why are you––"

"Yosano?"

" _Dazai_?!"

Dazai shakes his head, like a dog trying to get the water out of its ears. The blond man by his side stutters what are unsuccessful attempts to form a whole sentence, but Chuuya only registers Yosano's fingers squeezing his shoulder as she pushes him away with unusual gentleness.

He looks at her, but her gaze is fixed on the space between their feet. Her head hangs low and the back of Chuuya's throat itches with a demanding _look at me_ that never makes it past his lips.

"Well," is the first intelligible word that echoes in the cold room; instinctively Chuuya glares at Dazai. "This is unexpected."

His voice doesn't sound light, not even teasing. His brown eyes shift between Chuuya and Yosano, a deep frown between his eyebrows.

.

Chuuya doesn't call Yosano again. She doesn't call him either, which is fair.

He remembers her words when he tried to make some sense of their completely ridiculous relationship, reasons that it's over now. Two members of the Agency catching them red handed doesn't really fit the rule about their meetings not interfering with their jobs.

At least now Chuuya knows for sure Yosano never had second intentions.

It's a pleasant thought, but it tastes as bitter as the liquor in his glass.

Some days after the night Chuuya would rather forget he finds himself in a quiet pub, even though there is nothing to celebrate. He frowns at the dark liquid, calculates how much it will take for him to not remember anything until dawn. Leaning his elbows on the counter, he focuses on the sounds around him: steps, quiet conversations, ice cubes clinking together and glass hitting glass in toasts he isn't part of. They are surprisingly soothing.

"So do you like our doctor?"

Chuuya manages not to flinch at the sudden question coming from his right. He can't do anything about the disgust showing in his face due to Dazai's voice, though.

"Fuck off," he snaps lowly, not even looking at the man as he takes a sip from his glass.

"I knew that hat was too ugly to be hers," Dazai continues. _Now_ the familiar mocking tone is back in his voice; Chuuya's jaw tenses. His patience today is exceptionally low and that idiot has a gift to pull at his every single string. "So I guess the tragic love story is over now?"

 _Love?_ Chuuya wants to break the glass in Dazai's face.

"Asking her would probably take less effort, you know," is what he mumbles instead. Because he's angry, but he's also _tired_ ; this is nothing unexpected and at the same time he couldn't brace himself for the blow– because he refused to believe there was something he had to protect himself from. "You could say that."

Dazai asks for a whiskey; by the time the bartender brings it to him Chuuya is asking for a second glass for himself.

"I'm not interested in your affair," Dazai finally explains after drinking half the content.

Chuuya looks at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Then?"

Dazai downs his glass, puts some money on the counter. Then he looks at Chuuya, and there is no trace of a taunt in his expression.

"I just want to make sure it's actually over."

Chuuya raises an eyebrow, looks at his glass again. "I sincerely hope you're not jealous."

"God forbid, no." Hilarity filters into Dazai's voice, as if the mere idea were ridiculous. "But I don't think I have to remind you how much Mori-san likes using people for his own goals."

"Well, isn't it touching? Now it turns out you are concerned."

He listens to Dazai getting off the tool.

"Don't get the wrong impression, Chuuya. I'm not worried about _you_."

Chuuya turns towards his former partner. He is met with an empty gaze, and even though he only knows parts of that particular story he understands enough.

.

It takes another whole week for Chuuya to call her again. Perhaps because after doing it, _again_ will stop being a word he can associate to Yosano.

He does it after a particularly hectic day, when he's too tired to keep making excuses. He collapses on his bed, pretends to have trouble remembering her number.

"Hello?"

"Hey there, Doctor."

Silence.

" _You_. What do you want?"

Chuuya sighs, covers his eyes with his forearm.

"Isn't it obvious?"

More silence.

"I don't expect you to believe me, but Kunikida and Dazai only walked into us by chance. They were investigating the place––"

"I don't care." Chuuya presses his lips together. "I had a good time."

From the other side of the line, Yosano huffs out something that Chuuya hopes is an amused snort. Because he doesn't know if he can deal with the other option.

"Me too," she eventually says.

The mattress base cracks beneath him and Chuuya forces himself to breathe deeply.

"Goodbye, then."

"Goodbye, Mafia Boy."


End file.
